


August

by Bluesummers



Category: The Magicians (Books), The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Hand Jobs, Hot Weather, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, One Shot, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, Wet Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 15:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluesummers/pseuds/Bluesummers
Summary: It's hot and stifling and for some reason Eliot looks especially irresistible today...





	August

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fact that it's 35/95 degrees over here and my air condition just broke...  
> As always, based on the books but can be read by all!  
> Enjoy~~~
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Magicians.

 

 

The air was standing as if frozen in time. There was no relief from the stifling humidity or from the bright sun rays roasting everything they fell upon. Not even the slightest wind blew through the grassy lawn, not a single cloud formed in the sky to veil the blinding white sun.

Brakebills was desolate of students during summer vacation, and so the cottage had no air condition of any kind, mundane or magical. Inside it felt like Quentin was drowning in hot soup – damp and boiling and impossible to breathe. Eliot – the only other student on campus grounds – insisted he could cool down the interior if he wished to, but was either lying or too lazy to bother. The two of them tried to escape the heat by lounging on the shaded cottage porch, overlooking the quiet garden, seemingly all alone in the world.

Quentin was lying supine, in nothing but his undershirt and boxers, on the fairly cool brick floor. Still, his long hair was damp with sweat, and despite stretching out his limbs in all directions, so were his armpits and thighs. It was like his body was melting into the stone, gluing Quentin to the ground with a mixture of perspiration and sticky skin.

Even Eliot, who usually felt right at home during hot weather, swapped his usual button-downs for a pale pink polo and some very short shorts. The other boy was reclining in a chair with his long legs perched up on the table, sipping on a chilled mojito of his own making. Quentin wished that on his best day he would've been half as elegant as Eliot was on the hottest day of the year.

"God," Eliot sighed, "I have sweat running down into my ass."

Quentin glanced sideways to where Eliot's shirt rose up to reveal a hint of his lower back, but all he could see was smooth, somewhat glistening white skin. His friend's presumably sweating ass was out of sight.

"Me and the floor have now dissolved into one entity," Quentin complained.

He couldn't quite detach his gaze from Eliot's hip area. It was so slim, and his stomach was so flat, and just like with his enviable magic capabilities, he didn't even have to make an effort, it just came to him naturally. Quentin's eyes wandered farther, gliding over the older boy's long legs, bare and on display in the bright light, and then back up. The glass held loosely in Eliot's hand was covered in tiny droplets, slowly accumulating and trickling down onto the stone floor. His graceful fingers distractedly drew patterns on the weeping clear surface.

The warmth enveloped Quentin, soothing him into a drowsy, heavy state.

"Fuck, I can't even smoke, it's so… ugh," Eliot was obviously too exhausted to even finish whichever quip he was about to make. Instead, he leaned his head back against the chair, bending his neck into a long delicate curve and exposing the sensitive flesh in the most sensual way. "I'm gonna have zits tomorrow."

Quentin wiped the beads of salty fluid that kept gathering above his upper lip. He kept his eyes on the other boy, admiring his nihilistic fatigue and idle body. Even his nose seemed fascinating, almost hypnotizing, long and pale like the rest of him. His sharp chin was raised in both defiance and boredom. His eyes were closed in a mixture of weariness and leisure. The thin layer of perspiration only made his skin glow. Eliot sighed softly. Quentin briefly wondered if that's what he looked like after sex.

It was unfair, he suddenly decided, all the boys in school who knew what Eliot looked and felt like, when he, his friend, had absolutely no idea. He searched his mind for some excuse to get a little bit closer, to gain a better view of the other's expression, maybe to even briefly brush warm skin against warm skin.

As if irritated by Quentin's track of though, Eliot rose to his feet. From his low angle all Quentin could see were Eliot's legs approaching. He really pulled off these shorts.

"Watch this for me," the other boy said as he set down his drink on the floor next to him before disappearing out of view.

It was quiet again. So quiet the world seemed dead. Quentin had no idea where Eliot had gone off to. Without him there, he had some time to reflect on his earlier musings. Where the hell did it all come from? He knew he admired the older boy, perhaps there was even some sort of attraction there, but looking for a way to touch him was a bit much. It must have been that awful heat toasting his brain or something. He didn't usually think about Eliot's soft white thighs, or how they'd feel all warm and trembling as they wrapped around his waist. He wasn't generally jealous of the guys who got to actually make Eliot hot and sweaty with their hands and mouths and cocks. It was just that at that particular moment, just the two of them at the height of summer, all of a sudden everything about Eliot seemed enhanced somehow. Even more captivating. Tempting in an almost unnatural way.

"Huh!"

The joyful cry made Quentin lazily turn his head toward the garden. Eliot was standing in the middle of the grass, under the strong spray of a sprinkler. It seemed that he'd enchanted it to set off. He looked incredibly pleased with himself.

Just the sight of fresh jets of water made Quentin jump to his feet. He grabbed the drink and loped to the lawn under the merciless sun.

The first touch of cool stream against his heated skin was blissful, bringing him back to life and putting a silly smile on his face.

"Yes!" He yelled and pulled off his shirt, throwing it to the ground and spilling mojito over himself. He threw the glass aside, too.

Sunbeams clashed against the artificial rain and created little rainbows, floating all around in the air. Eliot's bare feet delightfully curled in the saturated green grass. Quentin realized just how close the other boy was standing and looked up, meeting his eyes. They were both drenched and happy, staring at each other with satisfied grins.

Even Eliot's pointy bent smile seemed endearing. He laughed and ran a hand through his wet hair, moving in that unique charming way of his that was equal parts feminine and masculine. His clothes were soaked, clinging to every part of his skinny body. The pink shirt turned sheer as it stuck to his chest, revealing the darker pink circles of his nipples. They were perked up from the cold shower, sticking against the pale fabric.

Quentin licked his lips as he fought to restrain himself. His hands were practically trembling with the effort of not reaching forward to trace a finger against a hard nipple. He was staring. He knew he was. He knew it was strange. But for some reason he couldn't possibly look away.

"I guess it's true what they say about being straight and spaghetti."

The joke made Quentin risk a glimpse at Eliot, expecting the other to dismiss the situation with an amused smirk. But the older boy was staring intensely right at him, holding his gaze, slightly frowning.

Quentin swallowed hard. He could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his head.

Eliot wasn't moving away. The sun was beating down on Quentin's exposed skin. He couldn't stand the nerve-racking eye contact for even another second.

He lowered his head and wrapped his lips around a nipple, sucking it into his warm mouth through the cold fabric. His tongue massaged the aroused flesh, feeling its erect little shape and rubbing against it. Eliot moaned, briefly yet deeply, and slightly arched into Quentin's lips. He sucked more hungrily, scraping and nibbling and drawing everything as hard as he could into his mouth. Water flowed from the shirt down his throat.

"Okay, easy," Eliot breathed as he softly pulled on his hair, "I'm not your wet nurse."

Quentin irritably stared up at him.

"Since when do you like it easy?"

For a moment Eliot stared back. Then he shrugged.

"Fine. Do what you want with me."

At that, Quentin shifted his attention to the other nipple, biting down hard and yanking and then softly lapping. He wrapped his hands around Eliot and went straight inside the back of his shorts, struggling into the wet cloth of his underwear, grabbing and filling his palms with his ass. The skin under his fingers was cool and wet and slick, and his hands glided and slipped over it. The material sticking to the back of his hands was cold, but in his palms the flesh was warming up with each stroke and squeeze.

Eliot let out a series of groans, long and low.

Through the drizzle Quentin could feel his damp back baking under the sun. Eliot's body was covered in water and fresh sweat, both warm and cold against him. With one hand he gripped his ass even tighter, while the other pulled down the front of his shorts, letting his swollen cock spring free.

Quentin fisted it, immediately stroking hard and fast. It was long and flushed and so incredibly hot in his fingers.

His mouth let go of the nipple and went up to finally capture Eliot's moist lips. It was a sloppy kiss, hurried and open-mouthed, mostly tongues protruding to lick lips and skin. Sometimes his teeth accidentally clashed against Eliot's crooked ones. Quentin's focus was on jerking him off, wanting to feel his release in his hand. He pumped even faster, crudely and mercilessly, gripping too tightly.

"Yes…" Eliot moaned into the kiss and took over, shoving his tongue deep into Quentin's mouth, exploring everything inside slowly and thoroughly.

A hand shoved Quentin's boxers down. Eliot took his leaking cock out and rubbed it against his own. It was all a mess of unidentified wetness and warmth and slippery skin.

Eliot nipped down his neck and abused the delicate skin at its base. He rolled his hips, repeatedly sliding his cock up and down Quentin's aching length. His fingers teased over and beneath his head before moving downward and gently pulling on his balls. Quentin's own hand moved harshly over them both, locking them close together. He desperately jerked his hips into the touch.

He leaned his head against Eliot and shut his eyes. The bright sun penetrated his eyelids and turned his world to shimmering darkness. He was gasping and sighing with every graze of Eliot's gifted hand. Everything in his body became unbearably hot, inside and out, and then he was shuddering, coming all over his own hand and stomach and Eliot's shirt.

He stayed there, limp and exhausted, only partially aware of the other boy's tugging motions against his hip. After a few more moments, new spurts of warm semen hit his skin, and Eliot rested his head on him and panted heavily into his ear.

They were covered in every possible substance. Sweat, semen, saliva, water… even mojito.

Birds were chirping around them. The sprinkler softly spun and sprayed.

Eliot took a step back, forcing Quentin to recover his balance. He pulled up his pants and cupped his hands under the stream, using the water to clean himself. Quentin quietly mimicked his actions.

He felt like himself again, awkward and completely embarrassed by what he'd just done. He wasn't sure whether he regretted it or not.

"I, uh… Sorry. It's the heat, I wasn't being…"

"Please, Q, it was just a little hand job. How old are you, eighteen? It's past time you experienced a little." Quentin was certain Eliot knew he was nineteen. "Anyway, you're not the first straight guy to jerk me off, so don't be so nervous."

Quentin wondered if perhaps Eliot was a bit hurt, so he didn't say anything else until they were back on the porch.

"You think someone saw us?"

Eliot leisurely took back his place on the chair and grinned.

"If that's Henry's first time catching students fooling around in the yard, I'd be ashamed to call myself a Brakebills graduate."

Quentin guessed this will have to do.

He let himself collapse onto the floor and drowse off for a bit, every now and then opening his eyes to look at the slowly setting sun, or to peek at Eliot's sleeping face.

 

 


End file.
